


Things to Do in Milwaukee When You Want to be Dead

by goodoldfashioned



Category: RedLetterMedia RPF
Genre: (again), Anger, Angry Sex, Catharsis, Crying, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hate Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rage, Reunion Sex, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodoldfashioned/pseuds/goodoldfashioned
Summary: Mike and Jay have still-angry reunion sex after a bad fight.





	Things to Do in Milwaukee When You Want to be Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Half in the Bag verse, etc etc!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **

\--

 

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (Milwaukee, circa 2003)... 

 

\--

 

“You know Jay is going to be there, right?”

Mike snarls when his friend tells him so. Yes, he fucking knows. And no, he’s not okay with it. But he’ll be goddamned if Jay gets to have Milwaukee all for himself, even if that was kind of the idea when Mike quit the VCR repair shop and moved across the country after they had a vicious fight that included Jay accusing him of being a soulless slut, among other things that he can’t take back, ever.

“I don’t give a shit,” Mike says, and his friend laughs at the obvious lie. 

Jay was his best friend for years. They were inseparable ever since they met at work, settling for a career in VCR repair when they both had their applications to work at Blockbuster Video turned down. They had this in common when they met, and many other things, though they were also incredibly different in plenty of ways. That didn’t matter; it made the endless discussions that none of their other friends had the patience for that much more engaging. All day at work, whether the shop was totally dead or there was a growing pile of VCRs on the counter to repair, they sat on their asses drinking beer and talking about everything. They hung out after work, too, more often than not. They even shared a bed once, when drunk. Nothing happened, of course. But Mike hadn’t minded that Jay was there when he woke up. Maybe he’d even liked it a little.

Then it all blew up, because, as it turns out, Jay was a secret asshole all along. The sting of his betrayal still makes Mike grit his teeth and imagine picking Jay’s tiny body up in one hand and just pitching him clear off the fucking planet, into the sun. Especially because it all came out of fucking nowhere, out late at one of their regular bars when Mike was trying to hit on some chick who supposedly had been talking to Jay first. Jay was drinking but not drunk, and even if he had been it wouldn’t have excused the things he said. Mike said plenty in response, gravely injured and attempting to defend himself before Jay could deliver a death blow, but Jay started it, and has never apologized.

Well, maybe he has, a little. Via email, for fuck’s sake. Which doesn’t count, and even those emailed apologies were shitty and backhanded in parts, seeded with criticisms that Jay can’t help send his way even now. 

But Mike can be the bigger person. He is the bigger person, literally: ha ha. He isn’t dim enough to not understand that part of why Jay lost his shit was his insecurity about being small, dorky, ignored by women, and awkward where Mike is aloof and accidentally charming, unless he’s wasted. And sometimes even then. As far as he knows, Jay is still a virgin in his mid-twenties, and still obsessed with this fact as if it marks him with a giant red V on his forehead and makes him some kind of freak show pariah. As if it’s the only thing about him that matters.

“So has Jay managed to get a girlfriend yet?” Mike asks his friend when they’re on the way to the party where he’ll see Jay, if Jay hasn’t chickened out and canceled after finding out Mike will be there. 

“Nah,” his friend says. 

Mike actually already knew this, as he checks up on Jay regularly through their most easily-manipulated-into-gossip friend, who will also be there tonight. 

“Boyfriend, then?” Mike asks, not really joking. It would explain some things.

“He hasn’t told us about it, if so,” his friend says, shrugging. “He doesn’t really talk to any of us anymore, though. I haven’t seen him since you left town.”

Mike grunts. He has heard rumors that Jay has shut himself off from all human contact outside of work, where he’s still manning the VCR repair shop counter alone. He could hire a replacement for Mike, as he’s technically the hiring manager since Mike left, but apparently he’d rather just do double the work, alone. Figures. Typical Jay. What an asshole.

The party has been going on for a few hours by the time they get there, at a scummy house that somebody Mike knows from high school is renting. Mike is tipsy from pre-gaming but still doesn’t feel ready to see Jay when he spots him across the room as he enters the house. Jay is standing against the wall with some fat guy and drinking from a red Solo cup. Jay’s gaze jerks to Mike’s as if Jay is prey sensing something that’s hunting him, and Mike’s lip lifts a little, but he decides, fuck it. There’s no point in avoiding him. That would make Jay feel too important. 

“Hey,” Mike says when he’s made his way across the living room, having fake-casually greeted a few others on his way to Jay and this fat guy, whose name Mike used to know. 

“Hey,” Jay says back, looking mildly disgusted to see him. Great.

“Remind me your name?” Mike says to the fat guy.

Jay snorts. He’s smiling when Mike looks at him, and he seems amused rather than critical, as if Mike not remembering this idiot’s name is already their inside joke. Mike feels himself smiling back. 

“Quinton,” the fat guy says.

“Oh, of course,” Mike says, and he hears Jay trying not to laugh at the dry, semi-insulting way Mike said that. Mike can see the barely contained laughter in Jay’s eyes, too, when he looks at him again. 

And oh, god, Mike used to love it when he made Jay laugh against his will, when Jay _had_ to admit that Mike was funny, that he got the joke.

“You little shit,” Mike says to Jay, friendly-like. “How are you.” 

“Life sucks,” Jay says. “What about you.”

“What about me? L.A. makes me want to die.” 

“Oh, well, same for me, only it’s Milwaukee.”

“I like Milwaukee,” Quinton says. 

“Who cares what you think?” Mike says, and Jay finally bursts out laughing, hard.

Quinton glares at Mike, then Jay.

“I fucking hate you guys,” he says, and wanders off.

“I don’t even know who you are!” Mike shouts after him. Jay is still laughing, and the Christmas lights that are strung along the wall just over his head make his eyes do a kind of twinkly thing.

“You’re still a total fucking asshole, I see,” Jay says, also friendly-like, but it cuts too close to something raw and unhealed in Mike’s heart-area.

“Fuck you,” Mike says, mildly. “Were you trying to pick that guy up or something?”

And oops, that was the wrong thing to say. The light goes out of Jay’s eyes and he gives Mike that old psycho-killer stare that Mike hasn’t missed at all. 

“Yeah, he’s my type,” Jay says, voice hard. “Heather isn’t coming, by the way.”

“Who?”

Jay’s eyes bug out and he makes a sputtering sound.

“Are you serious?”

“Um, yes?”

“Do you have fucking brain damage? She’s the girl I-- Never mind, jesus christ.” Jay looks into his Solo cup and finds it empty, sighs. “Do you want a drink?” he asks when he looks up at Mike again. 

“Always.”

The rest of the party goes okay. Mike mostly talks to people who aren’t Jay, who hangs around at the periphery of a few of these conversations, making disagreeable sounds at some things Mike says, laughing at others. Mike is drunk before the party ends, and after coming out of the bathroom he scans the thinning crowd and doesn’t see Jay. 

“He left,” Mike’s ex-girlfriend says when she sees him looking. 

“Who?” Mike says.

She rolls her eyes and walks away.

“Did Jay seriously leave?” Mike asks the friend he came with when he finds him smoking out back. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “Probably. He doesn’t even like any of us, I don’t think. He acts like he’s so above everyone.”

“Then why-- What? Why was he here at all?”

“Jesus, why do you think? I think he wants an apology from you.”

“He-- Excuse me??” Mike’s grip on his current bottle of beer tightens, and he has to fight the urge to pitch it to the concrete in rage. “ _He_ wants _me_ to motherfucking apologize? He fucking said that?”

“I don’t know, maybe not, I don’t really remember. Just let it go, man. He’s a little weirdo.” 

Mike paces around, breathing harder. He lifts the beer bottle over his head and throws it down hard, smashing it. His friend jumps away from the spray of shards and curses.

“Does Jay still live over on Crescent?” Mike asks, eyes flashing. “In that shithole apartment?”

“I think so. Why? Are you gonna go kill him?”

Mike doesn’t answer, ‘cause: maybe.

He isn’t sure how long the walk there takes, but he’s sober enough to remember the way. By the time he’s pounding on Jay’s apartment door he feels entirely too sober, though also totally unhinged. This infuriating, emotionally disturbed, backstabbing motherfucker is gonna answer for some things: right here, right now.

Jay pulls open the door, already frowning.

“Mike?” he says.

Mike hates that there is something he likes about hearing Jay say his name again after all this time. 

“How fucking dare you leave that party,” Mike says, pointing his finger in Jay’s face. “Without apologizing to me.”

“Oh, god. You’re drunk. Leave me alone.”

“Nope. No fucking way. You’ve avoided me for five months. You owe me a goddamn explanation.”

Jay sighs and rolls his eyes. He steps out of the way, pushes the door open, and lets Mike storm inside. 

“First of all,” Jay says, slamming the door shut while Mike stalks into his dreary living room, glad that no one else is here. “I didn’t avoid you for five months. And I did apologize.”

“Oh, what, that bullshit email?” Mike turns to glower at him, so ready for a fight that he feels jittery with something like excitement, wanting to grab a piece of furniture and push it over. “The one where you said, P.S., it’s actually all your fault?”

“No! I didn’t say that! Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“You do think so, though! Jon told me you were expecting an apology from _me_ tonight? Are you _fucking_ kidding me? What the fuck did I ever even do except have better luck with women than you? That was a grave enough offense to tell me I’m a sex-addicted sociopath who will never know real love?” 

Jay cringes and doesn’t deny that he said that, at least.

“I was going through some shit,” he says, tightly. “As I tried to explain in that email that you found so inadequate.” 

“You’ll always be going through some shit, because you’re an insecure little asshole who holds people to impossible standards while forgiving yourself for everything and throwing yourself a non-stop pity party, like your hang-ups about sex are a fucking death sentence!”

Jay’s mouth gets tight. Here we go, Mike thinks. Good. Right back where we left off, let’s do this.

“You absolute fucking trash fire of a person,” Jay says, voice shaking. “You don't get to come into my apartment and lecture me about my pain.”

“Oh, fuck you and your precious _pain_. We're all in pain, Jay, thanks to you.”

“Wow, really? You're so fucking self-centered it's actually funny, like truly absurd.”

“That's rich, coming from you.” 

Mike exhales, his breath choppy and agitated. Jay is just standing there, clearly enraged, but not reaching the boiling point Mike needs to bring him to. He’s got to really fucking do this, if he’s gonna do it at all. 

“Excuse the fuck out of me if I’m still bitter that you trashed our friendship for the same reason you fuck everything else up,” Mike says, walking closer, “Just because of your tedious insecurity shit that you think is so special and unique. I was your best friend, and you threw me away like I was nothing, just because you’re so embarrassed that you’re still a virgin that everything else is fucking meaningless to you.”

Jay says nothing, but his silence has a different quality now. He’s almost ready to kill Mike, hands in fists at his sides and color coming onto his cheeks, eyes burning.

One more push and he’ll be ready to deal the death blow he wanted to give Mike back then.

“All this time-wasting shit when obviously you’ve figured out that you don’t even want to fuck a woman,” Mike says, aware that he’s crossing like a thousand lines. But he should have said this back then and gotten it over with. “You want to get fucked by a guy.”

“Go to hell,” Jay says, his voice so fake-calm that Mike is actually a little scared of him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You delusional little bitch, I know _everything_ about you!” 

Mike has thought about Jay nonstop since their fight, and it made him realize how fixated he was on Jay even before the fight, and that there is a huge, unfillable hole in his life if Jay is not in it. This only makes him angrier, because it’s like Jay has him in an emotional prison, and nobody but Jay can let him out.

“I know what you need,” Mike says, stalking toward Jay and getting up in his face to emphasize his superior height. “You just need to get fucked, and then you’ll mellow out and be cool to me again.” 

Jay sniffs, still dismissive, acting superior even as his own rage is making it visibly difficult for him to not punch Mike in the face.

“So why don’t you go buy me a hooker, Mike,” Jay says, glaring. “To test out your little theory.” 

“No need for a hooker.” Mike doesn’t know what he’s doing. But then again, maybe he does. “I got what you need right here.”

“What I need?” Jay looks a little nervous now. 

“Yep. What you’ve needed this whole time and not admitted to me or maybe even yourself. A big, fat cock pounding into your uptight virgin ass.”

Jay laughs hard, and at first Mike is afraid he fucked this up, miscalculated, but then he hears the quality of this laughter: insanely over-amplified fake amusement that doesn’t work as a front, instead making Jay seem like he’s actually some combination of terrified, desperate, and dying inside. 

Which makes Mike’s cordoned-off heart hurt a little, distantly.

“Ha, right,” Jay says. His eyes are already swimmy, pupils expanding, but he still manages to look and sound so goddamn smug. “Could you even get hard for a guy?”

As if bisexuality is some kind of hipster skillset that Mike couldn’t have possibly developed without Jay’s expert supervision.

“I don’t know,” Mike says, though he does. “Why don’t you suck my cock and find out.”

Jay blinks up at him: once, twice. He seems hypnotized, then snaps out of it and huffs as if he’s impressed, or pretending to be.

“I’m only doing this to prove that you can’t handle it,” Jay says.

And then he sinks to his knees, slowly, keeping his eyes on Mike’s face the whole way down. 

“Uh-huh,” Mike says, afraid to speak another word for the fear that this could stop happening.

Jay reaches for the button on Mike’s jeans and thumbs it open, his eyes focused on the bulge that’s developing in Mike’s pants now, in front of his face. Jay's eyebrows go up a little, as if he’s authentically surprised that Mike is getting hard for him, for this. Shows how much he knows.

Mike puts his hands on his hips as if he’s Jay’s impatient manager at the shop again, waiting for him to get to work. His mouth is watering as he watches Jay pull his zipper down and then the waistband of his boxers, Mike’s embarrassingly hard cock springing out for him. 

Jay makes a startled, maybe displeased little sound under his breath, as if he objects to the size of Mike’s monster dick. 

Choke on it, Mike wants to say: has imagined saying, so many times, in his angry fantasies about Jay since they parted ways. He mashes his lips together and tries not to make any noise at all, afraid he’ll scare Jay off if he makes one wrong move.

Then Jay looks up at him as if he’s lost, suddenly, and Mike realizes he can’t stop talking at any point during this, that Jay needs him to keep telling him what to do and daring him to dive deeper into this.

“Go ahead,” Mike says, as if he’s benevolently granting Jay permission for his own sake. Which, maybe he is? “I know you want to.”

“Fuck you,” Jay says, softly, and he tries to give Mike a dirty look, then just looks back at his dick again, his hot little exhale against Mike’s cockhead making him almost lose his composure and groan. Almost.

Jay closes his eyes before opening his mouth, which is so like, prim or adorable or something that Mike wants to laugh, but it dies in his throat when Jay licks him, delicately at first and then hungrily, breathing hard against Mike’s cock when it leaks for him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mike says, unable to stop himself. He puts his hand in Jay’s hair and lets his head fall back, then misses the sight of Jay doing this too much and tips forward again to watch.

“Mphf,” Jay says, opening his lips around the head of Mike’s dick and shiiiit. Mike wishes he was more drunk. He tightens his grip on the top of Jay’s head and guides him forward a little, then back, almost letting loose a whine of amazed, disbelieving gratitude when Jay relaxes under his grip and lets him do this, moving with Mike’s hand as if he’s glad for the guidance. 

“You like that?” Mike asks, when it’s obvious that Jay does. He’s drooling, eyelashes fluttering. 

Jay looks up at him then, glaring as if to say, no, I still hate you so much, even while his mouth is stuffed full of Mike’s cock, cheeks hollowed while he sucks it with obvious relish. 

Oh, so, holy shit: they’re going to keep fighting? While they do this?

Mike has to mash his lips together to keep from beaming with evil delight.

Because he didn’t even realize how much he wants that, but now he wants it more than he’s ever wanted motherfucking anything.

He’s enjoying the blow job, but the opportunity to have Jay still saying nasty, angry shit to him as things progress is too tempting to pass up. He eases Jay off of him, smirking when it seems like Jay wants to keep going until Mike’s come shoots down his throat.

“Easy there, hang on,” Mike says, taunting him. “That’s not the main event, right? You’re still a virgin, aren’t ya?”

“Fuck you,” Jay says, his voice a little raw even though he came nowhere near close to working his throat around Mike’s cock, still a total amateur. 

“Nah,” Mike says. “We’re doing this the other way around. ‘Cause fuck _you_ , Jay. You want me to fuck that pesky virginity out of you here on the floor? Want to get on your hands and knees for me? Or do you want it in your bed? So your sheets can smell like my come after I leave?”

Jay’s eyes widen briefly before he glares at Mike again, and again it’s like he’s impressed by Mike’s ability to out-evil him when provoked.

“Bed,” Jay says, and he stands shakily, legs wobbling and erection tented against the front of stupid cargo shorts. He slaps Mike’s hand away when Mike tries to help steady him. 

“Lead the way,” Mike says, giving him a sharkish grin like he’s totally in control.

He’s actually kind of or maybe entirely freaking out. But he’s a far better actor than Jay, who will have no idea that Mike is doing this not on a mean whim but because he’s been wanting it for at least five months if not more like five years.

Jay walks into the bedroom. He looks lost again when he gets there, so Mike needs to keep talking. 

“Do you seriously still have Evil Dead posters on your bedroom walls?” Mike says, as if he doesn’t love this. “You’re like five years from thirty, Jay.”

“I don’t care about your opinions on my life,” Jay says. “So keep that shit to yourself and do what you said you would.”

He turns his back on Mike, who sees an opportunity to taunt Jay for wanting this so bad but holds off for now, watching as Jay digs a condom and lube out of his dresser drawer.

“You have that shit on hand, huh?” Mike says. “How come?”

“‘Cause I fuck myself with the lube and haven’t given up on getting laid, obviously for good reason.”

Mike pretends not to be impressed by that response. His dick throbs at the thought of Jay fucking himself-- with what?!

“Fuck the condom,” Mike says. “I don’t have anything and you’re a virgin.”

“You’re sure?” Jay says, hesitating between the dresser and bed.

Mike wants to cry, briefly, because holy shit, Jay still trusts him this much?

“I’m fine,” Mike says, because he is. He’s been celibate since he left Milwaukee and had to get tested for the insurance at his shitty job in L.A. 

Jay shrugs and throws the condom on his dresser. He goes to the bed and sits there holding the lube, waiting for Mike to do whatever to him.

It takes a lot for Mike to stop himself from getting down on his knees, not to blow Jay but to say, I miss you so much that I’m pretty sure it’s killing me on a medically provable level.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, instead.

Jay sighs. Mike is aware he has hang-ups about this, same as everything else. He stands there in silence and watches Jay pull off his shirt. Jay is a beanpole dweeb, but Mike is suddenly very into it. Or maybe he has been for a while. Jay has a kind of sweet fragility, but at the same time he’s sturdy, battle-tested and hard as nails. 

“You, too,” Jay says when he stands up to unzip his shorts.

Mike grunts at the audacity of Jay giving him a command, but he takes his shirt off anyway. He’s gained some weight since moving away, but not too much, and he was pretty skinny before so he dares to dream that the drinking-related weight is actually an improvement. Jay stares, anyway.

“So you’ve been putting stuff up your ass,” Mike says, fake cool because he’s nervous about shoving his pants and boxers down, stepping out of his shoes, then his socks, finally just naked in view of Jay, who is also nude and hard and breathless. 

“What?” Jay says, and he drags his eyes up from Mike’s dick to his face.

“Your ass!” Mike says, loud and actually kinda hoping for a laugh. “You’ve trained it to take some intruders, yeah? Silicone, and so forth?” 

“I--” Jay frowns and blushes like he doesn’t remember telling Mike this, basically, when he got out the lube. “Yeah, why?”

“Just trying to determine how delicate or not I need to be with you.”

“Uhh, not at all.” Jay sits on the bed and scoots backward, inviting Mike to join him. “In fact, I’ll be fucking pissed off at you if you don’t fuck me as hard as you can. Pussy. Show me what you got, or get laughed at after.” 

Mike almost laughs at this cheesy bullshit, but he can’t deny that he’s affected by it, too, hurrying toward the bed and throwing himself onto Jay, almost forgetting what they’re doing, almost kissing him before he pulls back and pins Jay’s shoulders to the bed.

Jay stares up at him, somewhere between petrified and mocking, waiting to see how Mike will play this.

Mike is waiting, too, for a moment. He feels dizzy. Jay looks good from this angle, lying underneath him and all spread out in surrender for whatever’s about to happen to him.

“Pull your legs up,” Mike says, because he’s thought about this, too. “Against your chest.”

Jay takes a deep breath, exhales, and then obeys. 

And oh jesus it looks better than it did in Mike’s attempts to envision it, because Jay still looks defiant and angry even while he fucking spreads himself open for Mike, holding his legs up against his chest and showing Mike that untended virgin hole that has only known silicone and Jay’s own fingers before now.

“Fuhhhhhhck,” Mike says, sitting back so he can properly stare.

“Ugh,” Jay says, almost but not quite pulling off his obvious attempt to seem bored by Mike’s amazement. His breath is coming too fast, his face is too read. “Are you even going to last long enough to fuck me for real?”

Mike feels his eyes darken with authentic menace. He sees Jay noticing this and getting a little scared.

Mike grins. Good, yes. He should be scared, the little shit.

“Hmm,” Mike says, kneeling on the bed between the open spread of Jay’s pulled-back legs. He moves his hand down toward Jay’s hole and keeps his eyes on Jay's when he gives him a little flick there: not too hard, but like a warning.

Jay gasps, eyes going shut. He looks newly interested when they open again, pupils totally blown now. 

“I think so,” Mike says, nodding to himself. “I think I will, Jay. And the real question, I think, is how many times I can get your little prick to go off before I unload inside you.”

“Oh god,” Jay says, breaking character for a moment. He swallows heavily, pink all the way to the tips of his ears now. “Yeah, um. Okay.”

“Okay?” Mike snorts. “Give me that lube, you ignorant child. You’re about to learn something that silicone couldn’t teach you.”

“Oh god,” Jay says, totally different now, like a verbal unimpressed eye roll, and Mike has to admit that didn’t really land the way he wanted it to.  

He has to stop himself from following it up with something equally cheesy, like: you’re gonna get it, smart ass! Jay knows he’s going to get it. He’s watching Mike smear lube onto his fingers, eyes wide.

Mike casts about for something cool to say when his fingertips tease over Jay’s waiting hole, but he can’t deny that he’s, like, deeply affected by this, too, his face blazing and his heart slamming, and he has to swallow down some kind of responding sound that tries to escape when Jay makes a soft noise and tilts down against Mike’s hand like he wants more already, his skinny chest skittering. 

“God,” Mike says, about to lose it, his voice tightening. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he says when Jay blinks his overwhelmed eyes open, to keep from saying something else.

“Yeah,” Jay says, voice already broken. “You-- You’d better.”

Mike smirks. When Jay smiles back at him it feels like the whole world is going to shift around them, poles realigning and all the bad shit in their past together evaporating, but Mike isn’t ready for that yet. He pushes a finger into Jay, not slow but not too cruel, not yet.

Jay goes nuts for it, of course, back arching off the bed, head thrown back. He’s a greedy little bastard; Mike has long known this. He’s already trying to fuck himself on Mike’s finger, licking his lips and not really succeeding in trying to hold in the noises he wants to make. 

“Tight,” Mike observes, sincerely. His mouth is watering, and he’s beginning to worry Jay could be right, that he won’t last very long inside that smooth velvet heat.

Jay scoffs. “Very original,” he mutters when he blinks his muggy eyes open enough to lock his gaze on Mike’s.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re so well-versed in porno dialogue that I’ll have to get creative.”

Jay licks his lips again, exhales. There’s a whine building at the back of his throat because Mike is fucking him too slow, taking his time with the unwinding of this impossibly wound-tight person. 

He can’t think of anything particularly creative to say at the moment, however, fuck. 

It turns out not to matter, because it’s then that he finds Jay’s prostate.

“Jesus, fuck, yeah!” Jay goes all bucking animal need then, slamming his hips down onto Mike’s finger and whining, thrashing his head back and forth and clawing at the blankets.

Mike swallows what might have been a whimper, watching this. He touches Jay there again, and when Jay cries out and writhes down against then away from this new intensity, Mike fucks his finger in a little harder, faster, wide-eyed and sort of wishing he was recording this but mostly glad that no one on Earth except for him will ever see this first time Jay finally has someone touching him here. Not even just someone but Mike, the only person who’ll fully appreciate it, because there’s no way that anybody on the planet adores Jay as much as he secretly, angrily does right now.

Mike slides his finger out, patience gone. He’s got to be in there now, immediately, and Jay looks like he feels the same way when he wrenches his heavy-lidded eyes open to watch Mike slicking his cock. 

“Tell me how much you want it,” Mike says, not sure if he’s seeking reassurance or torturing Jay by making him beg even now.

“Muh,” Jay tries to say, and then manages it, barely: “Mike.”

And that, actually, is the correct answer, so Mike gives him what he wants, lining up hurriedly and feeling his way into place, watching Jay’s eyes as he prepares to shove inside. 

He has to remind himself, before really going over the edge of this thing, that they’re still fighting. 

“You dreamed about this,” Mike says, recalling the hateful way Jay had spit those accusations at him at that bar, saying Mike was empty and compulsive and only using other people to stroke his ego like a loser with a fleshlight, all because Mike flirted with some girl while Jay stood by, seething. “Didn’t you?” Mike feels his eyes getting hard again. He’s scared himself before, but not now. He’s totally in control, and he knows Jay can see it. 

“Dreamed about-- You fucking me?” Jay laughs, grabbing the control back from Mike in the easy way he always has, sneaky little fuck. Nobody else is as good at stealing Mike’s thunder. “Yeah, sure, Mike. You’re not projecting, or anything. Definitely, it was all me. Totally, this was all my idea.”

Jay is goading him and Mike knows what he wants, so he gives it to him. He shoves in, hard.

“Ngh!” Jay’s throat gets tight and red when he throws his head back, eyes pinched tight as Mike claims the last, deepest inches inside him, until his balls are pressed tight against Jay’s fucked-open ass.

“There,” Mike says, hovering over Jay and muttering this against his ear as he pants and makes choked away sounds, his hands clawed into Mike’s shoulders. “Now,” Mike says, giving Jay’s cheek a soft little lick. “You’re not a virgin anymore. Hey, Jay. Way to go. Your life’s dream is fulfilled. Now you can die happy.”

“So fuck me to death,” Jay says, gritting his teeth and giving Mike the meanest look he can manage in this state, his voice barely working and his chest heaving against Mike’s, ass stuffed so full that his breath is short.

“Oh, ho ho!” Mike can’t help but laugh, and it feels so good, with his cock buried inside Jay and jolting against the deepest parts of him with every twitch of his belly laugh, fucking amazing. “That’s the happiest death you can imagine, huh?”

“Come here,” Jay says, eyes narrowing.

“I’m pretty much here, Jay, I’m literally inside you.”

Jay grunts and lifts his head, bringing his mouth to Mike’s as if he’s going to kiss him. Mike opens for it gladly and sort of shrieks when Jay bites his bottom lip, hard.

“You fuck!” Mike says, hating that it feels even better when Jay is laughing, at him, his ass squeezing around Mike’s dick in tight little pulses when he does. “Do you want me to murder you? ‘Cause it kinda seems like you’re begging for it.”

“Murder me, what?” Jay is still breathless, grinning. He kinda looks like he’s having the time of his life right now, which, go figure. He’s always been obsessed with moving past that first thrust of his first fuck, and now they have. “Gonna murder me with your dick?” Jay says, eyebrows lifting. “Well, Mike. You can try.” 

“Just hold onto something, yeah? You’re about to learn a life lesson. About, ah. Relentlessly provoking a madman.”

Jay snorts. There’s something sweet in it that makes Mike kiss him, just softly when he remembers how bad his bottom lip hurts from that savage bite.

What happens next is basically mayhem, in terms of how much control Mike maintains, or doesn’t, over his own wild thrusting. Jay is just as unhinged and fearless, snarling and spitting and jamming his hips up to meet Mike’s every downward push. They both bite at each other’s mouths, and then Mike moves his down to Jay’s neck to protect his poor, throbbing lip while he slams his big, throbbing dick into Jay with abandon, so glad he was drinking earlier tonight, because he’d have come already if he didn’t have that little barrier of remaining buzz to hold his orgasm off, and he’s got some things to say before this is done.

“Feels so good, in you,” he says, murmuring this against Jay’s ear and trying as hard as he can to make it feel like a taunt instead of wet-mouthed praise. “God, _yeah_. Who but me knew, ah. How much this ass of yours needed taming? How the whole fucking world would be a better place once you finally got put on your back and fucked hard?”

Jay cries out, and Mike almost can’t believe his luck because Jay actually just came, all over Mike’s stomach, and he’s a shaky mess in the aftermath, panting and grabbing Mike’s hair, his head still thrown back and eyes shut so he doesn’t have to face Mike after coming untouched on his dick, for the sound of Mike’s mocking voice in his ear. 

“Oh, holy god,” Mike says, again not sure if he sounds mean or impressed, now not even sure which one he wants to sound like. “You, you just. Jay, you came, ah. You just came all over yourself, jesus christ. Look at you, you fucking _mess_.”

Jay is still mostly brainless but must be coming back to himself enough to hear the little whimpering noises of overwhelmed pleasure that he’s making while Mike fucks him through and past his orgasm, because he brings his tiny hands up to cover his mouth, brow pinching and hips beginning to twitch up to meet Mike’s thrusts again.

“Oh, no, no,” Mike says, grabbing one of Jay’s wrists and then the other. He pulls Jay's hands from his mouth and pins them to the bed over Jay’s head, grinning in a way that probably looks maniacal when Jay finally manages to open his eyes and lock his dizzy gaze on Mike’s, those noises sneaking past his open lips in croaking little whines and whimpers now, incontrovertible evidence that Mike is fucking Jay so well that he’s losing his beautiful mind. 

“I’m doing all the work here,” Mike says when Jay half-heartedly tries to pull his hands free from Mike’s brutal grip. “I’m the one who's giving you such good dick that you’re embarrassing yourself on it, so I get to hear every desperate, pathetic little sound you make.” 

Jay moans, and there’s some lingering anger in it, but it also sounds like surrender, so fucking sweet. He seems to hear this sweetness and tries to marshal a new lucidity, blinking up at Mike and licking over his wet lips, refocusing. 

“Harder,” Jay manages to say, his voice pretty rough. 

“Shut up,” Mike says, though he does start snapping his hips harder, faster, his body agreeing with this plan even as he tries to put Jay back in his place. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“You miserable piece of shit,” Jay says, squeezing his ass up tight around Mike’s hammering dick, probably in an attempt to make him come. It feels a little bit like a hug, or maybe even an apology. “Don't act like I don't, _ah_ , like I don't know you hated yourself for wanting this so bad,” Jays says, and the blistering light that’s coming back into his eyes might be real rage. “Fuh, for years, you wanted-- Admit it.” 

Pah, amateur. As if Mike has any reason to admit that right now.

“Look who’s talking,” Mike says. “You bitter little cockslut. No one hates himself for wanting this more than you.”

Jay does his scared, impressed eye-widening thing again, and huffs a breath that makes him drool a little, just at the corner of his lips. Mike licks it up for him, politely, before lifting his head and making his eyes hard again, continuing.

“Well, now you got it,” Mike says, snarling a little. “And you like it just as much as you thought you would, don’t you?”

Jay has gone still, legs wide open around Mike while Mike slows his pace a little, waiting for a response. Then he slows it a lot, watching something like panic cloud into Jay’s eyes when he stops thrusting entirely, half pulled out of him.

“Tell me how much you like it, Jay,” Mike says. He’s desperate to thrust again, too, but Jay doesn’t have to know that. “Go ahead. What do you have left to lose? You like it so much that your come is already smeared all over my chest.”

Jay presses his lips together. His eyes flash, nose twitches. He’s squeezing himself up around Mike’s cock like he can yank it back into action with his ass muscles alone. He’s very wrong about that. Mike can wait. He’s waited five years already.

“I like it,” Jay says, voice buried and small, when he realizes Mike is serious about not moving until he hears this out loud.

“Hmm,” Mike says, never one to not take a good thing and run as far as he can down a dark alley with it. “I don’t think that’s accurate, though. You don’t just like having my dick in there, fucking you open. I think you _love_ it.”

Jay glowers at him, knows what’s coming. 

“Tell me you love it, Jay. Go ahead. Just tell me the truth, and you’ll get what you need so bad. I know you’re not done. You’re hard again, jesus. You need more, don’t you? More of what you love?”

Jay huffs and turns his cheek against the bedsheets before facing Mike again. He flinches against Mike’s grip on his pinned wrists, writhes against the weight of Mike’s bigger body pressing him down. There’s nowhere to go, and nowhere else he wants to be. Mike knows that without having to hear it out loud. He just wants to, because he can ask for anything right now and Jay will give it to him, as long as it means Mike will start fucking him again, hard. 

Mike thrusts into him just a little, too slow and too shallow, taunting the so-sensitive, post-orgasm and pre-next orgasm rim of Jay’s hole with his cock. 

Jay whines, jaw tight and eyes pinching shut. When he opens them again, he looks so angry that Mike knows he’s about to get what he wants, and in the most glorious way possible.

“Nnhn,” Jay says, still trying to bite the words back in. He scowls, squeezes around Mike’s cock and exhales. “Yes, yeah, oh-- okay, you fucking bastard, you win, I love, love it, love--”

Mike starts moving again, sliding in deeper but still too slow, nudging him toward saying more.

“Hahh, yeah,” Jay says, eyes fluttering shut and hips stuttering up tiredly against this new reward of friction. “That, _ahhh_ , god, yeah, I fucking-- Love, love it, fuhhh, fuh-- Feels so good, please, Mike, _please_ , please don’t stop.”

Mike feels like the king of the world as he starts fucking into Jay hard again and watching him go full shameless, drooling, moaning slut for it. 

“That’s right,” Mike says, though he can barely make his own voice work now, starting to push toward his edge, hips snapping madly and his nerves going swimmy from the top of his head to his heels for how lost Jay is for this, throwing his head back and grabbing Mike’s ass with both hands like he wants him in there even deeper, harder. 

“ _There_ he is,” Mike says, a kind of masterpiece of filth building in his brain just before he loses his conscious mind entirely. “There’s the little bitch who’s been in heat for my dick since the day we met. There’s the little cockslut I know and love.”

Oops, did he just say he loves Jay? Well, who cares. He does. 

Jay has no ability to process words or much else left anyway. He’s moaning to the point of almost crying, clawing at Mike without restraint and using every ounce of feeble strength he has left to fuck himself up against Mike’s every downward thrust, eyes slammed shut and leaking at the corners.

“Good boy, Jay.” Mike is talking mostly for himself at this point, pulling himself over the last screaming edge of this thing he still can’t believe is happening, huffing his breath between words. “Just-- You, _ahhh_ , you, yeah, you let yourself have what you need, there you go. Yeah, fuck, let it all out, that’s so good, you-- You take that motherfucking cock, Jay, it’s all yours now, up your greedy little ass just like you wanted for so long. Fucking _take_ it.”

Jay sobs Mike’s name out and Mike smashes his lips to Jay’s, wanting to be kissing Jay for real when he fills his ass with come. 

He’s actually not even sure what he’s doing when he comes, because the spine-shattering strength of his orgasm causes him to have no brain for a few long seconds and possibly also no body, his whole self going to an elsewhere-land of sharp, gushing satisfaction. When he recovers enough to half-recall the embarrassing noise he made at the peak of his climax, which was somewhere in the vicinity of Jay’s name, he’s still sort of kissing Jay, and Jay is still very hard against his belly. 

Mike pulls out, slow, relishing the feeling of his come spilling out of Jay along with his spent cock, and he’s barely got his hand wrapped around Jay’s dick before Jay is spilling for him again, squeaking and arching his back as he spurts against Mike’s tight grip on him, tears streaking down both cheeks and into his hair. 

Mike keeps pumping Jay until he’s empty and overstimulated, pushing at Mike to get him to let go, trembling all over. He’s also, like. Legit sobbing, and when Mike releases his dick Jay brings both his hands up to cover his eyes and starts crying even harder, his whole chest heaving with it, which. Is not good.

“Oh, hey, hey,” Mike says, and shit, fuck, he thought he knew what he was doing, that Jay could take it as good as he gave it. Now Jay looks so tiny and outmatched underneath him, curling in on himself and sobbing into his hands, hiding his face. “Oh, god, okay, fuck, sorry, wait--”

“Fuck you,” Jay says weakly, his voice all cut up and muffled in his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Yeahhh, you look. Maybe not fine.” Mike puts his hand over Jay’s jerking shoulder, gently, expecting to be smacked away. Jay doesn’t push him away or even flinch, and his crying calms a little bit when Mike squeezes his shoulder and strokes his skinny bicep with his thumb. Jay sniffles into his hands and spreads his fingers so he can peek up at Mike. “Did I hurt you?” Mike asks, ready to call the police and have them come arrest him for this.

“No,” Jay says. “I don’t know what’s happening. I feel insane.” 

“Jesus, I’m sorry, just. What can I do, what--” 

Mike realizes this is a stupid question and stretches out beside Jay, scoots in close and pulls him into his arms. 

He expects Jay to fight it at least a little, or tell him to stop being a sap, but Jay grabs for him and holds on tight, hiding his wet face against Mike’s throat. He’s still sniffling a little, also shaking, but at least he’s not sobbing anymore. 

“It was that hideously bad?” Mike says, his ego already reentering the situation as his panic subsides a little bit. 

Jay makes a wet scoffing noise against his skin and tightens the arm that he’s tucked across Mike’s back. 

“No. Shut up. You fucking know it was good.” 

“Mhm. Are you really okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay!” Jay looks up to glower at him, returning to his fury as easily as a finger snap. “I’m in love with someone I fucking hate.” 

“What-- Me?” 

Jay doesn’t dignify this with an answer, just glares. Then he sniffles again. He’s cute, Mike thinks. He’s shivery and naked and fucked out and cute, and he’s in love with Mike. Maybe he has been this whole time.  

“You don’t really hate me,” Mike says. 

“I completely do.” 

“How can it be complete when you also love me? Ah-ha!” he says when Jay doesn’t immediately answer. “Caught you in a paradox.”

“Yeah, that’s what this is. That’s a good word for it, actually.”

“Jay, shut the fuck up. I’m in love with you, too. Obviously. Fuck all the other petty shit. I’m not even mad that you never apologized. We can consider you letting me be the first person who ever came in your ass the apology, how’s that.” 

Jay smiles. It’s smug and self-satisfied, his most infuriating smile. It’s also cute, but Mike hates himself a little for so easily letting Jay get the upper hand _again_ , even while he’s got Mike’s come leaking out of him and his face is soaked with pitiful tears. He still fucking owns Mike, and he looks like he probably knows it more than ever, now. 

“Please just stay,” Jay says, his voice so soft that for a moment Mike thinks he’s being made fun of, that this is a joke. But Jay’s eyes are soft, too, and he’s not a good enough actor to fake that. “Everyone else just sucks and pisses me off if I don’t have you around to piss me off full time.” 

“And furthermore, you love me,” Mike says, not ready to let him slither away from that.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me there.” 

Mike’s heart does a ballooning thing at the sound of Jay saying _you got me_ , and for a moment he thinks he’s going to cry, too, but it passes. He cups his hand around Jay's hot, damp cheek and kisses him, sighing into Jay's mouth when his trembling lips part for Mike's tongue. Mike feels overfull with an still-growing amount of relief, flooded with it suddenly. Jay kisses back like he's afraid he's doing it wrong, pulling free to check Mike's eyes and then licking at the sore spot his teeth left on Mike's bottom lip. His adorable gasp when Mike licks back and their tongues slide together is the death blow that Mike was waiting for all night, and he gladly submits to it, could die happy like this, with Jay's tongue in this mouth as his kissing confidence builds in a palpable way. Mike tugs him closer and makes a whimpery little sound of praise as encouragement, totally on purpose.

“I think I knew when I got on that plane that I was never gonna leave Milwaukee again,” Mike confesses when they're catching their breath, foreheads pressed together and hands on each other's faces. 

“Boy, that’s depressing,” Jay says, but he’s grinning.

“Well, your depressing ass is here, so what else am I supposed to do?”

Jay snorts and then laughs properly. He moans and winces a little, flexes his shoulders back. 

“Ow,” he says. “Jesus. You fucked the living hell out of me, dude.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. But I think I warned you that I can only one fuck in one way, and that’s like an absolute madman.”

Jay laughs again, harder now, then moans and rolls onto his back. Mike leans up onto his elbow and tucks himself against Jay’s side, not letting him get far.

“I really am sorry, though,” Mike says. “You can annihilate my ass in revenge, if you want.”

“Eh. I don’t really like asses. You know how I feel about germs.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Jay rolls his eyes. He arches his back a little and sighs, eyes drifting shut.

“It actually feels kinda good,” he confesses, mumbling. “That, like. Ache. Mhm.”

“Pain slut.” 

“So what if I am?” Jay says, eyes still closed, and he laughs when Mike sucks in his breath with astonished gratitude. 

“Well, shit,” Mike says. “I think we’re, like, made for each other. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you.” 

“Oh, fuck you, I figured that out years ago.”

Jay peeks up at him after saying so, looking suddenly bashful. Mike kisses the tip of his nose. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mike asks, stroking Jay’s cheek. 

“Because you’re an asshole and you don’t listen to anything I say.” 

“Bullshit, I hang on your every word! I spent the past five months doing nothing but going over everything you’ve ever said to me and writing angry mental essays in rebuttal!”

Jay smirks triumphantly, hearing this. Mike sort of growls at him in response, annoyed. He’s got to get better at not falling for these little ploys. 

Or maybe not. Maybe he doesn’t mind so much, letting Jay win. Feels pretty great so far.

 

**

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this fic was like being possessed. In a good way!


End file.
